


For Medicinal Purposes

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Jon and Martin's Scottish cottage honeymoon, Jon is demanding and Martin thinks it's hot, M/M, Martin is a good boyfriend, Oral Sex, Period Sex, Squirting, Trans Jonathan Sims, Vaginal Sex, post mag 159
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: To Jon's annoyance, he gets his period while they're in Scotland. Luckily, Martin has a wonderful solution for his cramps.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 33
Kudos: 550





	For Medicinal Purposes

**Author's Note:**

> This work features a trans man having his period. While there is little to no dysphoria, there's some description of menstrual products and a bit of blood, though not as much as you'd think. 
> 
> Thanks as always to cuttooth, who is the best beta and cheerleader! <3 I appreciate you so much! I would not be nearly as productive without you! Thanks also to kess for their encouragement! They're both wonderfully talented people, check out their work!

They're in Scotland when Jon's period starts.

"Bugger," he mutters, scowling at the scarlet stain in his underwear. Of course, he didn’t think to pack any supplies, so he’s stuck with wadding up toilet paper to make a makeshift sanitary napkin. 

He’s been trying to ignore the cramps all day, half-convincing himself it was just indigestion. His periods are so irregular he never knows when to expect them, and he’d been half-hoping he could go another few weeks without one. 

It does at least explain some of the...urges…he's been feeling. His libido, usually dormant, has flared to life, striking at the most inopportune moments. Like this morning, when Martin rolled up his sleeves to open a jar of marmalade, flexing the muscles in his thick forearms. Martin has excellent hands, as he's demonstrated several times since they fled London, to Jon's surprise and delight. The memory makes Jon squirm a bit, pressing his thighs together. 

"You alright in there, Jon?" Martin calls from the bedroom.

"Fine," Jon says, opening the door. "Just my uterus shouting its complaints."

"Your—?  _ Oh! _ Right.” Martin pauses. “Do you need me to run to the shops?"

"You'd do that?" 

There are few things Jon hates more in life than buying menstrual products. The rows of pink boxes imposing their floral-scented tyranny, the employees assuming he must be lost, the cashiers congratulating him on being so nice to his “girlfriend.” The thought of leaving it to someone else is an enormous relief. 

"Of course I would." Martin closes the distance between them and leans down to kiss him gently, just because he can. Warmth blooms in Jon's chest, threatens to make a stupid smile break out across his face. He still hasn't gotten used to these little gestures of affection, isn't sure he'll  _ ever _ grow used to them. 

Jon starts listing his specifications for menstrual products. About halfway through, Martin starts to get a nervous look on his face.

“I’m...definitely going to forget that,” he says sheepishly. Text it to me?” 

"I will," Jon says. "Thank you."

He pulls Martin down for another kiss before he leaves, trying to ignore how the scrape of his stubble sends a shiver down his spine. 

* * *

While Martin’s out, Jon gathers every blanket in the house, making himself a nest to burrow in while he seethes with annoyance at the vagaries of his reproductive organs. What a bloody inconvenient thing to saddle half the human race with. By the time Martin returns, his cramps are in full force, like a fist gripping his organs and twisting viciously. Jon pokes his head out from the blankets, squinting at the array of shopping bags. 

“That’s a lot of bags. I thought you were just getting—you know."

“Well, I didn’t know which kind you liked, so I got a few?” Martin says, flushing at the tips of his ears. “And I bought some other things, just in case.”

Martin pulls the items out one by one: a heating pad, paracetamol, herbal tea, and an assortment of chocolates. Jon slithers out of his blanket nest, snatching up the bag of chocolates. 

“You know that’s just a stereotype,” he says crossly. He opens the bag anyway, popping a dark chocolate into his mouth. 

“Everyone likes chocolate when they’re not feeling well. Besides, they’re for me, too.” Martin plucks a caramel from the bag. 

Jon sneaks another chocolate before heading into the bathroom. To his relief, Martin managed to find a box of sanitary napkins that wasn’t pink or stamped with particularly yonic flowers. He rinses his pants in the sink before pulling on one of his older pairs. He unwraps one of the pads and removes the paper covering the adhesive, pressing it into the fabric. It goes on crooked the first time. He glowers at the thing, shoving it into place. 

When he opens the door, he can hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Martin is already plugging in the heating pad. Jon crawls back into his pile of blankets, shoving the heating pad under his shirt and closing his eyes while Martin disappears into the kitchen. He comes back with tea and paracetamol, which Jon takes gratefully. 

“How’d you get so good at this?” he asks, pulling Martin against his side. 

“I’ve had lots of friends deal with this sort of stuff,” Martin says, kissing his hair. “My mum’s symptoms always got worse around this time, too.”

Jon’s chest tightens with guilt. “I’m so sorry—this must be—”

Martin shushes him with a finger on his lips. “Everyone feels poorly some days. You can take care of me next time."

“I’d probably be shit at it,” Jon admits. 

“As long as you don’t make me tea,” Martin says with a soft smile. 

“My tea’s excellent, thank you. Not a single mortality to date.”

Martin laughs, and Jon can’t resist pulling him close and kissing him. Their bodies are pressed together, and he can feel the heat from Martin’s skin. He’s acutely aware of every point where they touch, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Martin’s fingers comb through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine, and when they skim the back of his neck, an embarrassing whimper escapes him. 

“All right?” Martin asks against his lips. 

“I—sorry,” Jon says awkwardly. “It’s just these hormones. They get me all…you know.” He gestures vaguely with his hand. 

“I’m not sure I do?” Martin says, confused. 

“...Er. Worked up,” Jon confesses. “Sexually.”

Martin inhales sharply. “I—I see.”

“But I know we can’t— _ do _ anything,” Jon says quickly. 

“Why not?” 

The question hits Jon like a sack of bricks. 

_ Why not? _

_ Why not? _

_ Why not? _

Implying that Martin just  _ might.  _ The possibility sparks something in him, a mix of shock and want that he’s not sure how to handle. 

“It’s—dirty!” 

“Our mouths are full of bacteria, but we still kiss,” Martin says reasonably. “I don’t see the problem with a bit of blood.”

Jon’s not sure he can breathe. “You mean...you’d want to…"

“You do realize I’m madly in love with you, right?” Martin asks. “I love everything about you. I want to make you feel good.”

Jon’s head is swimming. He feels faint, like he should be lying down, but he already is. 

"There'd be a, a mess," Jon stammers. 

"We can put down some towels. If you'd want. We don't  _ have  _ to, obviously." Martin's expression grows thoughtful. "Though I hear orgasms are good for cramps."

Jon frowns thoughtfully. “I think you’re right. Something about the release of dopamine and oxytocin?” 

It’s basically a medical procedure, Jon decides as he closes the distance between them. He rolls on top of Martin and kisses him soundly, enjoying the surprised squeak Martin makes before relaxing into the kiss. Martin’s arms wrap around his waist, and Jon rolls his hips, groaning at the pressure against his cock. 

"What would you like me to do?" Martin asks softly. 

"I want your fingers," Jon says, drawing Martin's hand to his lips and kissing it gently. 

"We still need those towels if we don't want a mess," Martin warns.

"What?" Jon asks absently, not waiting to hear the answer before kissing him again, more deeply this time. He can feel Martin hardening against him. A thrill of arousal travels down his spine. He likes being able to affect Martin like this, to see desire written in the lines of his body.

"The towels for the, uh, bed,” Martin says breathlessly. “I...have to get up for that." 

“Right.” Jon rolls off him, lying back against the pillows. "Hurry," he orders.

Martin returns with a mismatched set of towels, worn but surprisingly soft, and arranges them under the lower half of Jon's body. At Jon's insistence, he strips down to his boxers, which are already tented in front. Jon licks his lips at the sight, making Martin flush a deeper pink.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jon says, pulling him down to lie beside him. 

“Speak for yourself,” Martin replies, kissing him soundly. His hand trails down Jon's front, pausing at the waistband of his pajamas. Jon makes an aggrieved sound, and Martin chuckles as he dips his hand inside. His fingers skim over the neatly trimmed curls until he brushes his cock. Jon's hips jerk, and Martin rubs small circles over the sensitive flesh.

"God, you feel good," Martin moans. "I never get tired of touching you."

"Give me more," Jon demands, already breathing heavily.

Martin licks his lips before sliding his hand down to part the slick folds. His finger circles Jon's entrance teasingly. Jon isn't in the mood for delays, so he grabs Martin's wrist and pushes until his fingertips are pressing into his cunt. His fingers slide in easily, stretching him open.

"You're so _ wet,"  _ Martin says in a low, awed voice. 

"Yes," Jon whispers. He's more than a bit overwhelmed by the feeling of Martin inside him, a delicious fullness that makes him squirm. "Keep going."

Martin crooks his fingers carefully, making Jon gasp and clutch at his arm.

"Too much?"

"N-no, please—"

Martin seems to take his meaning, rubbing gently against the slick walls of his cunt. He swipes his thumb against Jon's cock.

"F-fuck, do that again!"

Martin repeats the motion, pushing deeper into Jon's body. Jon's hips rock against his hand, seeking  _ more _ and  _ harder _ and  _ fuck, please, right there _ . Without warning, he finds himself coming, clenching tightly around Martin's fingers and spraying him with gouts of fluid.

"That was ridiculously hot," Martin breathes, pulling him in for an open-mouthed kiss. Jon kisses back, breathless and a little surprised at the force of his body's reaction. He supposes his hormones have  _ some  _ benefit. 

“You’re—sure that was okay?” Jon asks, panting. 

"More than okay,” Martin says, grinning. “Need a break?"

"No break," Jon says immediately, clenching his thighs to keep his hand in place. Martin's fingers twitch inside him, making him moan.

"You can have my mouth if you like,” Martin offers.

“You—I mean, this is enough, you don’t have to…”

“I’d love to,” Martin says, voice husky with desire. 

Jon responds by pushing him down the bed, which earns him a chuckle. Martin kisses his chest through his t-shirt, then his stomach, where it isn't covered by the heating pad. He has to withdraw his fingers to get Jon out of his pajama bottoms, which is inconvenient, but soon Martin’s lips are brushing his cock, driving away any disgruntled thoughts he might have had.

"Martin, please—"

Martin looks up and shoots him a heart-stopping smile before closing his lips around his cock, making Jon gasp and clutch the sheets. He hums contentedly as he laps at the heated flesh, soft little licks that make Jon’s toes curl. 

"Fuck, your mouth should be illegal," Jon pants, hips bucking against Martin's face. Martin moans and sucks him into his mouth. "Can I have your, your—?"

Jon breaks off with a high whine, because Martin's just done something wonderful with his tongue, and he's lost the ability to form words. Thankfully Martin seems to pick up his meaning, because he slides two fingers back inside him. Jon's thighs tremble involuntarily as he rocks his hips, fucking himself on those clever fingers as Martin licks him relentlessly. 

"F-fuck,  _ more!" _ Jon begs, not caring what he sounds like, and Martin slips a third finger into him as he sucks Jon's cock. The stretch is perfect, just this side of too much, and it only takes Martin crooking his fingers just  _ so  _ to send him over the edge again, shaking and swearing and squirting everywhere. 

Afterwards Martin drops kisses on his shaking thighs, soft and reverent, until Jon tugs him back up so he can lay against Martin’s chest and bask in the afterglow of his orgasm. Martin wipes his fingers on one of the towels, using another to swipe at his face.

“Are-- are you sure that was alright?” Jon asks nervously. 

“More than alright." Martin grins. “I will  _ never  _ get tired of watching you come.”

Jon kisses him, surprised to find there's no real change in the taste. The realization makes him relax a bit. 

"You're so beautiful," Martin murmurs, stroking Jon's hair with his clean hand.

Jon looks down at himself. He's wearing a baggy t-shirt, naked below the waist, his scrawny legs covered with thick dark hair and pocked with worm holes. Someday he imagines he'll run out of space for scars. He's not sure what he'll do then. But he knows Martin will be there for him.

_ “You’re _ beautiful,” Jon says simply, and kisses him. Martin’s erection digs into his thigh, but he hasn’t made any move to deal with it. Jon has a wonderful idea. 

"That looks uncomfortable," he says in a low voice, reaching down to give it a squeeze. Martin groans and buries his face in Jon's hair. "What will we do about it?"

"Mmm, god, whatever you like," Martin says hazily. 

"And if I want you to lie back and let me ride you?" Jon asks. 

"I’d let you,” Martin moans. 

"Good," Jon says, pleased. "Now take your pants off."

Martin shimmies out of his boxers—decorated with shaggy Highland cows, Jon notes with amusement—and lies back against the pillows. His cock juts out from between his legs, thick and plump, with moisture beading at the tip, Jon licks his lips and reaches into the bedside table for a condom, before turning off the heating pad and setting it aside.

“You’re so lovely and hard for me,” he murmurs, rolling the latex down over Martin’s prick. 

“You’re everything I ever wanted,” Martin says softly. 

It must be the hormones that make Jon’s eyes water. He blinks away tears, leaning down to kiss Martin with all the force of his feelings. Martin’s arms are strong around him, grounding, and Jon finds himself relaxing.

“I—I love you,” Jon says. He’s still not used to saying it out loud; it feels awkward, but it’s worth it just to see the way Martin’s face lights up. 

“I love you, too.”

Jon straddles Martin’s hips, slowly lowering himself onto his cock. Martin’s hands grip his hips, steadying him as he takes it in. The stretch is intense; they’ve only done this a few times, and Martin’s thicker than any of Jon’s toys, but Jon is so very slick inside, wetter than he’s ever been. He finds himself moaning by the time he gets to the base, his cock brushing against Martin’s pubic mound. His whole body feels electrified, vibrating with energy that flows from him to Martin and back again. He can feel it in the way Martin trembles beneath him, struggling not to take more than he’s given. 

“God...that’s…” Martin bites his lip, breathing shakily. 

“I know,” Jon says softly. He rolls his hips experimentally, drawing a whimper from Martin’s throat.

From there, they build to a slow but steady rhythm, their bodies sliding in time. Jon uses Martin’s body a bit selfishly, grinding his cock against Martin’s pubis on the downstroke. It feels so good to be full, to be  _ filled,  _ and Martin seems more than happy to do it. 

Martin’s fingers brush Jon’s cock, rubbing firmly, and Jon’s thrusts take on a new urgency, picking up speed, until the room is filled with the filthy sounds of their fucking, the slap of flesh on flesh. It should be disgusting, but it just makes Jon crave more, more,  _ more,  _ until he cries out and spasms around Martin’s cock, gushing more fluid. He sags forward, breathing hard as the aftershocks rock him. 

“Had enough?” Martin asks, stroking his hip. 

“No,” Jon pants. “But I’m fairly tired. Could you take over for a bit?”

Martin rolls them over so he’s on top, his thick arms framing Jon’s body. It feels different in this position, the pressure on his cock more intense, and Jon moans, hooking his legs around Martin’s waist. Martin drives into him with steady, careful thrusts that have Jon clawing at his back. He’s still sensitive from coming so recently, but he wants it harder, wants Martin to fuck him like he means it, a demand he growls into Martin’s ear. Martin hastens his movements, and Jon’s hips surge up to meet him. 

“Fuck, Jon, I’m going to—”

“Do it,” Jon demands. “Come in me, fill me up,  _ please _ —”

Martin cries out, stiffening as his orgasm takes him. Jon feels a surge of possessive pride: he’s the only one who gets to see this,  _ have  _ this. He’s the only one who gets to know what Martin looks like in the throes of pleasure. 

Before Jon can get restless, Martin slides down his body, sucking Jon’s cock back into his mouth. It doesn’t take long before Jon’s writhing and swearing, thighs clenching as he comes one last time, orgasm washing over him in a haze. 

Afterwards, Jon feels wrung out, limbs thrown across the bed at odd angles. Martin disappears for a moment, then comes back with a damp cloth, which he uses to wipe away the worst of the mess. Jon’s too tired to participate, simply lying back and enjoying the attention. 

“Think that ought to hold you over?” Martin asks, settling beside him under the covers. 

“For now,” Jon says honestly. 

Martin chuckles, drawing him close, and Jon buries his face in his chest. 

“I think we’ve earned ourselves a nap.”

“It’ll look like a murder scene if I don’t get some pants on,” Jon warns.

“Do you feel like getting up?” 

“...no.”

Martin kisses his hair. “Then it can wait.”

Jon agrees, burrowing under the blankets with Martin’s arms around him, his body humming with contentment. He notes with amusement that his cramps really do seem to be better. Clearly he’s found the right prescription. 


End file.
